Release that Witch

Chapter 669: Diplomatic Turmoil

Translator: TransN Editor: TransN

No. 76 had gradually taken Denise’s place since becoming Yorko’s maid.

It did not mean that Yorko forgot about his old lover. The truth was that he had to spend some time taking care of his poor guide. In fact, Yorko had been totally shocked when No. 76 had been sent back by her superintendent Silvermask the other day. The punishment had been indeed as severe as "Black Money" had earlier claimed. There had been whip marks and bruises all over her body, and she had looked nothing like the girl he had met half a day ago.

Yorko was happy that he had made the request to retain No. 76 as his maid in a timely fashion. Otherwise, the girl would probably be wrecked by the battery. That was why Silvermask had said she could no longer be a guide, for customers definitely would not want a disabled girl to serve them.

Fortunately, No. 76 was not as fragile as most girls. She had a pretty strong body, especially her abdomen and back, on which several faint muscle lines could be detected. She had quickly recovered from the injuries after medication and was now able to run errands for the household, which, of course, also included some personal services.

For example, the service like she provided today.

"Sir, do you want me to massage your shoulders?"

After No. 76 cleaned the house, she drew close to Yorko smilingly. Although according to general rules, maids were not allowed to approach their masters without permission, No. 76 was apparently still employing the old method she had learned from "Black Money" to please her "guest". Yorko did not feel offended in the least. On the contrary, he liked the flirty way she communicated with him.

If No. 76 was simply a maid who strictly followed rules and obeyed his orders, it would be a little too boring to his taste.

"Come and sit here." Yorko put down the anecdote book in his hand and lay down on the recliner. No. 76 took off his shoes and sat on her knees so that Yorko could rest his head on her thighs comfortably.

She then started to slowly massage Yorko’s shoulders with her five slender fingers. Apparently, No. 76 had received professional training, for she used much greater strength and applied more techniques than other ordinary massage girls, who usually flirted with Yorko in the guise of massage. The labor delivered by No. 76 really worked and made Yorko feel less stressed.

Yorko could clearly see No. 76’s countenance when he lay on her thighs. After "Black Money" had sent her over, she no longer needed to wear that copper mask to conceal her identity.

Frankly speaking, No. 76 was never a beauty. Her overall appearance was just a little above average and certainly could not compare to witches. Nevertheless, Yorko liked her red, plumped lips in particular. When he looked up at her, he was always aroused by the faint smile lingering on her lips.

In comparison, her toned body was more appealing to Yorko. It was actually Yorko’s first time to see a woman’s body full of such incredible strength. Unlike corpulent noble ladies or scrawny peasant girls, No. 76 had well-proportioned limbs, beautiful skins, a prodigal projection of bosom and a flat tummy. When her body tensed up, Yorko could sense her bulging muscles underneath. As a man who always sought thrills, he was more drawn to a perfect body like this than simply a delicate face.

When Yorko was about to take the next step, the door was flung open.

It was Hill Fawkes.

Yorko let out a sigh of disappointment. It appeared his leisure time for today was over. He erected himself and asked, "I hope you aren’t asking me to save some witches again."

Hill did not respond but simply eyed No. 76.

The girl soon took the hint and withdrew respectfully.

Yorko shrugged. "You’re being overcautious. She’s just a servant."

"You’d better remain vigilant these days when the current situation in the Kingdom of Dawn is yet to be optimistic."

"Denise is more reputable than No. 76, and she’s from a more distinguished family. Why don’t you keep your eyes peeled for her?"

"Because Denise Payton is a public figure, whose background was no hidden secret. You can get the information about her one way or another, but there’s no way whatsoever for you to check the background of a guide trained by ’Black Money’." Hill seated himself opposite Yorko and placed a letter on the coffee table between them.

"But I feel I’ve already known what kind of person she is and where she’s from now." Yorko smiled triumphantly. "Do you care to hear it?"

"Oh, really?" Hill’s brows went up a fraction of an inch. "Surprise me."

Yorko grinned. He was satisfied to know that the guard appointed by his old friend appeared not be omniscient after all. "It takes a lot of time to train a perfect guide. It’ll at least take 10 years to perfect her pillow skills and tone up her body. Those skills she obtained from years of training have already become a part of her, and it has become so natural to her to please and serve her customers. How old is she now?"

"Around 21 or 22... No more than 25."

"Correct. That means she was only a five or six-year-old kid when she started her training. Unless she’s a monster who never ages or dies, she can’t be a person outside ’Black Money." Yorko spread out his hands. "There’s no conflict of interest between us and ’Black Money" anyway. They conduct much dirtier businesses than trafficking slaves and protecting witches, not to mention that we haven’t actually managed to protect a witch yet." Yorko went on with self-mockery, "I don’t think witches need protection from us."

Yorko was in a very complacent mood when he saw Hill Fawkes remain silent. His self-satisfaction, nonetheless, soon disappeared a minute after he opened the envelope and unfolded the letter.

It was an official diplomatic letter signed by King Roland.

The content of the letter made Yorko quiver in terror.

The King of Graycastle intended to stop the King of Dawn persecuting witches? Yorko was overwhelmed by the unexpected turn of the event. This was the capital of the Kingdom of Dawn, not the Western Region of the Kingdom of Graycastle!

Was his old friend under the impression that Appen Moya would listen to his counsel?

The series of threats following seemed to be even more ridiculous. Roland advised the King of Dawn not to go against the stream and warned him that the ruling of the church, which was starting to decay, provided the best example. He also stated that the Kingdom of Graycastle would not stand by and would take next step if necessary. Roland hoped that Appen could use his best judgement in all situations.

Although the letter was phrased very politely, Yorko believed everybody in the palace would be sensible enough to sniff out the threatening voice between the lines. Roland was obviously indicating that the Kingdom of Dawn would be his next enemy if their king refused to follow his suggestion.

How could he say that to the King of Dawn directly?

Yorko returned the letter to Hill sullenly. All his contentment faded into restlessness.

Hill was right. To His Majesty, witches were more important than the alliance. He wondered, however, what else these threats would bring about other than growing repugnance among great nobles in the Kingdom of Dawn. The letter could be nothing but another conversation piece.

"What should I do?" It appeared that he had no choice but to rely on Hill’s counsel.

Hill took a quick glance at the letter and replied, "Do as His Majesty says. This is your duty as an ambassador. As to the consequence, I bet the worst scenario would be that Appen Moya expels you from the court in rage. You won’t run into any danger."

"Then we’ll be done with these nobles." Yorko said gloomily, "People in the city of Glow will regard us as crazy and laugh about it in their cups, and Roland will become their new topic of discussion... What will His Majesty benefit from such a bluff?"

"A bluff?" Hill neither agreed nor disagreed. "Do you really think it’s a bluff?"

Yorko’s heart suddenly stopped beating with a jerk. He looked at the guard in dismay. "No... that can’t be..."

Hill said slowly, "Timothy Wimbledon also thought so before the old king’s city fell. Based on what I know of His Majesty, he never wastes his time."

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